


Lights

by degradedpsychotic



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Drabble, New Year's Eve, No Romance, Pre-Crisis Core
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:04:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/degradedpsychotic/pseuds/degradedpsychotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who would have thought that the SOLDIER cadets had access to fireworks?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lights

It had a tendency to not snow in Midgar. Things got cold, puddles froze over, but clouds full of the white fluffy flakes were held at bay by rivaling clouds of smog and pollution, giving the air a sickly gray color that remained almost constant. The dry cold wreaked havoc on nasal passages and dried-up lips, but that couldn’t stop the population from going about their daily business. Even deep within the bowels of the ShinRa building, receptionists applied generous amounts of chapstick as they typed up appointment lists, and the director of SOLDIER himself was sucking on a cough drop as he flipped through fresh paperwork.

Further up on the proverbial ladder was the Demon of Wutai himself, gloved digits grasping the neck of a champagne bottle that had not yet been opened. Silver eyebrows arched as he accepted the gift, giving his friend a suspicious glance before turning back to his desk, searching the drawers for a bottle opener.

“And what cadet did you confiscate this from?” he questioned, finding the opener in question but getting it snatched out of his hands.

“Zack Fair, actually,” Genesis grinned, flashing his teeth at Angeal, who only laughed at the trouble his student had gotten into. “I’m sure there’s more where that came from.” Waving the bottle opener, he took a rest on the plush window seat, burgundy coat fanning out behind him as if he was some sort of exotic bird. “We wait until midnight to open it.”

“Haven’t you heard of pre-celebration?” Sephiroth countered, simply grasping the cork in his fingers and tugging, pulling it free after a moment of twisting and turning it. “If there’s more where this came from, then a few glasses now won’t hurt.”

“Who wants to wait three hours anyway?” Angeal agreed, giving a smirk in reply to Genesis’ pout as he opened a trunk at the opposite end of the room, pulling out a small box packed with tissue paper and wine goblets.

“I, for one, want to be coherent when the cadets get crazy. It’s far too entertaining.”

“And here I thought you were dignified.” Handing him a glass, Angeal put the rest on the General’s desk, watching him pour the bubbling gold.

Genesis only scoffed, placing his cup upside-down on the floor at his feet along with the opener, swinging his ankles up to half-lay on the window seat. “Then I’ll sit here and watch you two get plastered.”

“I’ve yet to see any of us get that drunk,” Sephiroth announced, glancing over the details on the bottle. Mako tended to burn off alcohol too quick to get anything more than a buzz, and pure alcohol tasted too disgusting to drink simply for the feel of drunkenness. “Take a drink, Genesis. I want to make a toast.”

Rolling Mako-blue eyes, Genesis reluctantly took his cup from the floor, allowing Sephiroth to fill it halfway before he stopped. The three of them gathered around the window after it proved that Genesis was _not_ about to get up, and Sephiroth raised his glass in preparation for his toast.

“To the past battles, and those to come in the future. To the new year; let it be better than the old.”

Genesis snorted, looking up at his friend. “And how has this year wronged you? You’ve nearly won the Wutai War in six months, not to mention the fame you’re building up,” he nearly spat, jealousy working in thick at the end of his statement.

He received a shrug in response, Sephiroth tipping back his glass to drain it. It wasn’t until Genesis and Angeal had murmured their agreement to the toast and drank their own that he replied with a simple, “There is always room for improvement.”

“Wonders will cease someday,” Genesis disagreed, arms crossing stiffly at the thought of Sephiroth having even _more_ success. Yes, he cared for his friend, but a little sharing of the lime light wouldn’t hurt.

But with Angeal playing peacekeeper, it was hard to stay angry.

Despite Genesis’ previous arguments about waiting until it was truly the new year, the bottle was soon drained by the three of them and they had moved to Sephiroth’s adjoined private room, where dark leather couches arranged themselves around a crackling fire as the winter’s windstorm raged outside. Idle chit-chat among the three eventually turned into buzzed drinking as they shared whiskey and scotch from Sephiroth’s own stock. Four hours ticked by faster than they had anticipated, and a massive roar alerted them to the time when the SOLDIERs celebrating in the floor below them counted down.

“Happy new year indeed,” Genesis sighed, swirling his drink around and watching the ice spin in his nearly-empty glass. “I don’t see any difference so far.”

Rolling his eyes, Sephiroth poured himself another glass of scotch, wondering if he drank it all fast enough if he could get drunker than he was. Already, his buzz was fading. “Don’t sound so enthusiastic, Genesis. You might hurt yourself.”

“ _All that awaits you is a somber morrow, no matter where the winds may blow_ ,” he recited, raising his empty glass for Sephiroth to fill. A heavy, dramatic sigh slipped his lips, getting a muffled laugh from Angeal at how ridiculous he was being. “I don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel just yet.”

“You’re just mad because you’re about to turn thirty,” Angeal teased, grinning at his friend and laughing outright when he got a heavy glare in response.

“And you’re feeling sour because _your_ student fully planned on smuggling illegal alcohol into his barracks,” he clipped, downing his drink before Sephiroth even had a chance to return the bottle to the shelf it came from. Sephiroth sighed and simply gave the man the entire bottle of imported scotch, taking his own glass back to his seat. “You ought to put that pup on a leash, my friend.”

Angeal only laughed again, leaning back on the couch as Sephiroth sat beside him. “Some lessons are better learned on their own.”

“You aren’t getting a soft spot, are you?” Sephiroth teased, smirking at him over his glass.

“I am not,” he argued, jabbing the other’s arm with his elbow. It was lucky for him that the alcohol hadn’t spilled—That was the last of it, now that Genesis was nursing the bottle himself. “He only needs a firm hand, and I’m providing it.” He would _not_ admit that he was growing rather fond of his student. He had a feeling that Zack was the closest thing to a son he would ever have, and it was nice to be able to pass on his knowledge to another generation. He wasn’t going _soft_ —

A sudden explosion ripped the men straight from their teasing, Sephiroth standing and taking quick strides to the window in concern. Throwing back the dark curtain, he stared out at the Plate below in confusion before another explosion sounded, the sky coloring green before the brilliant sparks faded.

A small laugh escaped his lips in relief, stepping aside for his comrades to see what the commotion was about. “Fireworks,” he explained, watching as more were lit off, the source being a few cadets that had clambered over the fences into the supply yard. It was surprising that no one had stopped them, but perhaps the higher-ups were enjoying the light show just as much as the others. Some of the light was lost in gray clouds, but the way they lit up behind the dreary curtains looked not unlike colored lightning.

The three men simply stood crowded around the window before a _fantastic_ idea came to Genesis’ buzzed mind. Dropping the scotch back onto its shelf, he linked arms with Sephiroth and grabbed Angeal’s hand, pulling the two men for the door. It wasn’t until he was shoving them into the hallway that one of them thought to question it.

“Where the hell are you dragging us?” Sephiroth spat, attempting to get his free but knowing Genesis too well to actually think he would get his arm back. He allowed the shorter male to shove them into the stairwell, standing still to allow their auburn-haired friend to bypass them, half-jogging up the steps. Sephiroth and Angeal shared odd looks at the way Genesis ignored the question, but resigned themselves to following him up.

They came out at the roof, surprised to find that Genesis wasn’t the only one that had the idea. Several 2nd Class and a few fellow 1st Class were gathered on the roof, passing around drinks as they watched the sky light up with fireworks just slightly above them. Genesis pushed his way to the edge of the roof, slinging his legs over the half-wall as he took his place. A note of worry flashed in Angeal’s eyes before he mimicked the action, legs dangling over the side of the building. Sephiroth stayed back, prepared to grab either of them if the wind simply knocked them off, but his hair was too busy whipping around him to even see properly.

The door opened as a group of cadets merged onto the roof, a loud cry of, “It’s cold as Shiva’s tits out here!” ringing out before they all fell silent and pale, not knowing that the space had already been taken. A few of them snapped to attention, giving salutes as soon as they identified the man whose hair was whipping around him like a storm,  but that only gained loud laughs from the others as 2nd Class began shoving drinks in their hands, shouts of “At ease!” and “Happy new year!” overwhelming the loud complaints about the cold. Sephiroth turned back to his friends, which were chatting (well, Angeal was listening and Genesis was letting the alcohol talk for him) about the different colors and designs that were being given off at the lights.

Sephiroth found a glass a little too full of champagne being pushed into his hand by a clearly drunk cadet, who proceeded to turn around to his friends and shout “I gave General Sephiroth a drink!” before he was enveloped in drunken hugs and congratulations. Too amused by the whole spectacle, Sephiroth nearly missed it when Genesis turned to tug at the edge of his coat, pointing at the sky. “Pay attention! You’re going to miss it!”

“You’re acting like a child in a candy store,” he teased, but he humored that pout and sat beside him, legs dangling over the edge as he sipped at his drink. He was careful though—He didn’t need to be starting the new year being scraped off the pavement from a ninety-story fall.

Genesis’ excitement was explained when the entire sky seemed to explode, colors and designs being lost as they all mixed, loud cheers from those on the roof and those on the roofs below nearly drowned out the crackling of fire, Sephiroth finding himself lending his voice as Genesis clapped his hands like the child his eyes glittered of, and for a moment, Sephiroth forgot all about the war strategies on his desk, the orders piling up from Lazard, the training of 3rd Class at his disposal, and the other work he had left behind in exchange for icy wind and a full glass of champagne in his hand.

But just as soon as that moment had come, the fireworks’ embers faded, leaving only thick smoke and a heated glow as the excitement died, the cadets shuffling back inside to evade the cold that their non-Mako treated bodies couldn’t fight off. Others filed away slowly, but the three 1st Class on the edge of the building, Sephiroth giving up his drink to Genesis as the three of them simply watched the tendrils of smoke dissipate into the wind, and then just watched the clouds migrate. Sephiroth had stuffed his hair under the collar of his coat to hold it back from the wind, Angeal giving him an amused look at his frustration. They didn’t speak, however, easily enjoying the silence.

That is, until, a note of disbelief slipped through Genesis’ lips before his eyes went skyward. Confused, Sephiroth mimicked his position, but Angeal was the one who held out his gloved hand, staring at what he caught.

“It’s snowing,” he observed, watching as the flake melted on his hand, only to be replaced by another. The flakes were nearly microscopic, but it was impossible to mistake the little white specks for anything else. They didn’t seem big enough to stick to the ground for very long, but the three of them were in awe just with the fact that it was _snowing_ in Midgar. Acid snow, maybe, but they didn’t let that possibility spoil the moment.

“What were you saying earlier, Genesis, about this year not being any different?”

Genesis scoffed as he stood, running a hand through his hair as it soon got littered with hundreds of the white specks. “I suggest you get up before I shove you over the edge, Sephiroth.”

“I don’t think you could live with the guilt.”

“I wouldn’t test my conscience, Sephiroth.”

“Shut up and enjoy the snow, or I’ll push both of you idiots off,” Angeal interjected, shooting them a teasing glare before he stood.

A laugh, and the three of them headed back for the door, spirits unusually high considering the swirling flakes and far below freezing temperatures. The weather in Midgar may have been bad, as it would perpetually be, but Sephiroth was looking forward to the white dusting on his windowsill in the morning, even if he _did_ have a bit of a headache from all the booze and the noisy fireworks. He planned on going straight to bed, but found to his surprise that there was a note crudely taped on his door.

_I know you guys stole my champagne, but Happy New Year anyway! You owe me 50 gil!_

_Hey Angeal, can I have tomorrow off?_

The slanted, hurried writing was signed by ZF, and Sephiroth couldn’t decide if he was amused that a note had even been written, that Zack wanted _reinbursement_ for alcohol he wasn't supposed to have in the first place, or if it had been left on _his_ door when Genesis and Angeal were in separate rooms down the hall.

“This year is just full of surprises,” he mused, tearing the note free before dropping it on his desk to show Angeal at breakfast, the bed calling his name before he could even debate another drink.


End file.
